Revelations of a Grey Coat Hunter

12

     Monty grinned wider and shoved the object into his pocket. "Will do."

     When he returned, Dr. Jacobs sent Monty's scores to the central databank from her notebook. Monty hovered, leaning casually against the desk. "So, you've got, what, half an hour?" Monty asked. "Got any plans?"

     "Depends," she said, avoiding his eyes.

     "Depends on what?"

     "On what my boyfriend is doing." She moved closer to Monty, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. "Did you have something in mind?"

     "Well, now that I've passed this portion, I can finally get out of this damned lighthouse and into the field," Monty pointed out. "Best of all, I can take some R&R in short amounts out in the town, so long as I keep within ten miles." He kissed her back. "You want to celebrate that?"

     She eyed him. "Was that a condom I saw Hunter Arthur carrying back into the locker room, Candidate Thatcher?"

     Monty shrugged. "Maybe?"

     She ran a finger up his chest. "And are you thinking about using it on me?"

     "Emily, I would love to use it on you," Monty replied, "but only if you'd do me the honor of accepting. Then, once I get the official word and can finally go out? I want to take you out on a real date."

     "Oh!" She started walking with him, their arms around each other. "Did you have anywhere in mind?"

     "Well, since I knew that this was coming, I took the liberty of researching the closest town," Monty began. "I found an Italian place with great reviews and booked us a reservation. Didn't you say you loved Italian?"

     Dr. Emily Jacobs was typically highly professional. But she giggled like a schoolgirl now. "I can't believe you remembered!"

     "Of course I remembered. You told me you'd gone out for Italian on your last birthday before joining the Foundation and that you'd had lasagna, your favorite food." They chatted about the food selection at the restaurant on their way back to Arthur's quarters. Once again, Monty had cause to be grateful for Arthur's instruction on dealing with the opposite sex.

     Naturally, Arthur was nowhere to be found once they got to the room. The Hunter was his usual helpful self, however. Monty hid his smile as they entered, seeing candles set out to be lit and a set of speakers ready to hook up with Monty's tablet for music. A bottle of what looked suspiciously like champagne was sitting in a bucket of ice, along with a set of glasses. Good old Arthur, playing wingman as usual, he thought as he slipped a sock over the door handle before pulling it shut behind them. His roommate could always be counted on.

     Monty snapped his fingers, instantly lighting the candles. That never failed to impress Emily. She smiled as he pulled out the bottle, only to discover sparkling white grape juice. "Dammit," he grumbled. "Stupid age restrictions! I'm eighteen, I can go to war, but I can't drink alcohol?"

     "Hunters are discouraged from imbibing anything that might impair their thought processes," Emily reminded, taking the bottle and peeling off the foil.

     "Doesn't stop them from going on benders," Monty pointed out irritably. "Arthur and Conrad did it when they were bringing us in! And we both know Arthur always has a flask of high test in his coat."

     "Yes, but for the most part, Hunters only drink while they're here," Emily pointed out. "And even then, only a few at a time are under the influence. We must always be ready to deal with possible breaks in our containment protocols."